


Call You Home

by Veniae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Obikin Big Bang 2016, Suicidal Thoughts, aka everyone is plagued by intense self-doubt all the time, anakin is 2 punk 4 u, but it gets better, the music school au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6894655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veniae/pseuds/Veniae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his last year at Coruscant Academy, Obi-Wan gets a new roommate. A certain Anakin Skywalker: loud, arrogant, and a frequent thorn in the faculty's side. Also: Obi-Wan's childhood friend with whom he hasn't been in touch in about half a lifetime. What could possibly go wrong? Going by Obi-Wan's recent experience, probably quite a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Endings and Beginnings

The first days of the new year were supposed to be days of hope and optimism, but for Obi-Wan, they always carried the sour aftertaste of the holidays. Christmas was all brightness, warmth, and coziness, but when the excitement had died down and the lights and ornaments had been put into their boxes for the next eleven months, all that was left was the inhospitable, _bare_ cold of winter.

Obi-Wan got off the bus at Coruscant Academy and threw his duffle bag over his shoulder. His dorm was on the other side of the campus, so he had to cross the open park space between the other dormitories to get there. At every other time of the year, he would have loved the short walk among the green expanse with its patches of short trees and fountains surrounded by flower beds. On the third of January, however, all that surrounded him was grey-brown dirt and leafless trees. There was no snow to disguise the chapped brownish earth. Grey morning light filtered through the canopy of clouds. Obi-Wan’s eyes drifted across the empty space, anxious for s spark of colour and finding none.

He tugged his scarf tighter around the lower half of his face and curled his hands deep inside his coat’s pockets. Cold wind, sharp with the smell of frost, bit into his skin where it was exposed. He blinked away the pricking of tears. His teeth were starting to chatter, but his legs were reluctant to take him to his room.

Even so, Dormitory Two soon came into his field of vision. It was a U-shaped two-story building, painted a light beige and with even, symmetrical rows of windows looking over the small courtyard. People jokingly referred to it as the ‘Temple’, because it was without a doubt the quietest and calmest dorm in Coruscant. Despite everything, the sight of it called a faint smile to his lips. The Temple was his home.

He sighed, the smile fading as soon as it appeared. Fishing his keycard out of the inside pocket of his coat, he walked up the stairs to the entrance. Warm air greeted him, heavy with the smell of variously successful cooking endeavours. In the foyer, he opened his mailbox to find a stack of flyers and among them, three plain white envelopes. The flyers were disposed of in the nearby paper bin, but he held on to the envelopes.

His room was in one of the double apartments on the other end of the floor. His slow steps echoed in the empty hallway. Not a sound came from any of the other doors. He wondered if anyone else had returned from the break. If they had, they were probably fast asleep in the comfort of their rooms. Lost in thought, Obi-Wan reached his and stopped in front of the door. 187b, the plate announced, his name printed out underneath.

A heavy sigh pushed past his lips. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

His room looked just like he’d left it: his desk, buried underneath books and heaps of paper, the keyboard on its stand next to it, with his headphones and various recording and playback devices heaped on the floor near around it, his bed, which had turned into a storage unit for a pile of clothes he had decided not to take with him.

Obi-Wan was usually an orderly, organised person. Keeping your belongings tidy reflected your inner balance, he believed.

Right now, he didn’t want to know what the mess in his room reflected.

He dropped his bag in an empty spot in front of the closet. Shoving the pile of clothes to the side, he sat down on the bed. He stared at the wall in front of him, not really seeing it, and breathed in the stale air. He would try and sleep, but lying down felt like too much effort.

A few minutes later, he remembered he was still holding the three letters he’d received. He turned the envelopes in his hand. Two of them was addressed simply to his room number, but the third bore his name and whole address, written in an elegant cursive.

It was Qui-Gon’s handwriting. Obi-Wan’s stomach tightened painfully. His fingers starting to tremble, he struggled to open the envelope. It contained a square of thick glossy paper, and when he pulled it out, he found out it was a Christmas card. It depicted a snowy landscape, all cool blue tones and delicate brush strokes.

Obi-Wan could not help but shake his head; this was so patently Qui-Gon.

He opened the card. _Obi-Wan,_ it read, _it feels weird to write to you like this, but it’s overdue. I’ve missed you since I moved out, and I regret not trying to talk to you sooner. I would have, if I didn’t think it would be unwelcome. I hope this isn’t._

_I’ve been home for three weeks and today, I finally received a letter that my dropout papers have gotten through. I’m no longer a student at Coruscant Academy. Frankly, I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t know if I made the right call, and I have no idea what I’m going to do next. I look forward to spending the holidays with my family, but that's as far as I have planned. I will take the rest of the semester off to figure it all out. Maybe I will listen to my parents and enroll in medical school come autumn. We'll see._

_I still miss Coruscant, of course, and I miss you. You were the best roommate I could have hoped for. I'm only sorry you wasted so much time trying to convince me I belonged there, when I think we both knew I didn’t. It was just a matter of accepting it. Still, thank you for your efforts and for your faith in me. I don't know if you want to talk to me, but I’m writing down my email just in case. I hope you enjoy you Christmas break, Qui-Gon._

And that was it. Obi-Wan stared at the email address written at the bottom of the page. He _had_ that address already. He knew he wouldn't use it, and he had little doubt Qui-Gon had known it too. Why else would he send him a token Christmas card after nearly a month of silence? The gesture had been supposed to be friendly, but it stung more than Obi-Wan cared to admit.

With a huff, he threw the card to the desk.

There were two more letters demanding his attention, and he was already feeling exhausted. He grabbed the first one and tore the envelope open. It was from the dormitory administration. Obi-Wan skimmed the contents and felt his heart drop into the vacuum that had opened between his navel and spine. The letter dated from the day after he had left for home, and it informed him that since the second room in his shared apartment was now vacant, they would hand it out to the next person on the waiting list. They gave Obi-Wan a week to contact them if he had any other consideration.

“ _Fuck,”_ Obi-Wan breathed out in shocked disbelief. A week from the letter’s date placed the deadline about ten days ago.

With a sinking feeling, he reached for the second letter. It was enough to glance at the sender to know what it would contain. His eyes darted across the page in search of the only information he needed: a name.

The name of his new roommate.

He found it near the bottom of the page, inconspicuously blending into the rest of the dry, bureaucratic text.

_Anakin Skywalker,_ the name read. His new roommate would be Anakin Skywalker, and he would be moving in in a week.

***

Anakin woke up around noon.

That in itself was hardly noteworthy. On the three or four days of the week he had shifts at the bar, he found his way to bed under the greyish light of dawn, and even then, it often took him at least an hour to fall asleep.

When he managed to crawl out of bed in time for lunch, he considered it a victory.

This time, being awake felt more like punishment. His head was pounding. His mouth felt like he had scrubbed it with sandpaper. The smell of an old ashtray assaulted his nostrils; it came from his own hair. He needed a shower, seventeen bottles of water, and at least one blister pack of aspirin. And while he was at it, he could take a neck rub. His muscles felt like someone had injected lead in them.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom.

***

Obi-Wan lay on his bed, curled under his comforter. He had been up before dawn to catch the bus to Coruscant, and his body was heavy with fatigue. His brain, on the other hand, refused to calm down. If the administration notice had accomplished anything, it was to push the thought of Qui-Gon from the centre of his attention. The jury was still out on whether that was a good thing.

Anakin Skywalker was one of Coruscant’s ”celebrities”, famous – or infamous? – for his arrogance, his explosive temper, and his talent. He played in a band called _The Chosen Ones_ , and if that wasn’t insight enough into his personality, Obi-Wan didn’t know what was.

What was even worse, he _knew_ Anakin.

Granted, they hadn’t talked in years, but that only made the situation _more_ unfortunate in Obi-Wan’s head. How was he supposed to share an apartment with someone he used to be close to and whom he couldn’t have had _less_ in common now?

And he was moving in in a week.

What had he done to deserve this?

His phone buzzed with a text notification. He had half a mind to ignore it, preoccupied with his thoughts as he was, but then it buzzed a second time. He groaned. Rolling to his side, he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

Rex: _obi-1 wanna get lunch w/ me and 5s?_

Rex: _u arrived today didn’t u?_

Obi-Wan felt a smile tug at his lips. He hadn’t seen his friends for two weeks. Meeting up with them was about the only thing that could cheer him up today. He sat up in his bed.

Obi-Wan: _Yes, I'm at Coruscant already. Unpacking. Lunch where?_

Rex: _the deli next 2 our place?_

Rex: _1:30?_

Obi-Wan: _All right. I'll meet you there._

Rex and Fives shared a two-bedroom apartment off-campus, close to the centre of Coruscant City. It was a pleasant half-hour walk from Obi-Wan's, which left him with an hour to get ready. Deciding he should at least try to look presentable if he were to go out of his room, he mustered the energy to get out of bed. He was twenty-two years old, he could at least _pretend_ to be a functioning adult.

***

At 1:30 exactly, a fresh-looking Obi-Wan walked into the Sky-High Deli, cheeks rosy from walking and eyes scanning the room for his friends. He found them at a table in the corner. Rex saw them too, and waved.

Obi-Wan smiled. "Hi, guys!" He indicated with a nod that he would get some food first. His stomach had been making weird noises for the past hour.

Thankfully, there was no line in front of the cashier’s desk. Obi-Wan got a salad, a tofu wrap, and a bottle of tonic water, and walked over to his friends.

Rex stood up to give him a one-armed hug and Fives shimmied out of her seat next to the wall to wrap her arms around him. "I'm glad you're back," she told him when she pulled away.

"Me too." Obi-Wan held her at arm's length, tilting his head as he noticed something was different. Fives' short curly hair had been shaved off on the right side of her head, with only two horizontal stripes remaining. "Cool hairstyle," he grinned, fondly ruffling her curls. Like her brother, Fives was taller than him, so he had to reach up in order to do so.

"Isn't it?" Fives grinned back. "I figured I needed some change to kick off the new year."

They sat down, Fives and Rex across the square table from one another, and Obi-Wan between them. He dug into his salad. "So, how was your break back home?" Rex asked around a mouthful of pasta.

Obi-Wan shrugged noncommittally, swallowing his bite. "I missed having you guys around. The days get terribly dull without harmony practices at midnight."

"I'll remind you you said that the next time you complain about it," Fives quipped. "We haven't done any of those either, there's no point when you _and_ Ahsoka aren't around." She made a show of glaring at him.

“Well, now I’m back, and she’s returning in a couple of days, isn’t she?” Obi-Wan smiled. “We can get back to practicing in no time.”

Fives was nodding. “Yes, she’s returning on Sunday. I thought she would be back already, but last time we talked, she said they were having so much fun snowboarding that they decided to extend their stay.”

“Yeah, _snowboarding,”_ Rex drawled with a knowing smile. “I’m sure snowboarding is all she and Chuchi are doing.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “You do know they aren’t alone.”

“I know Ahsoka can work around that,” Rex countered, smirking.

“In any case,” Fives chimed in, “I’m sure she’ll tell us all about it when she comes back.”

“I just hope she doesn’t do anything reckless in an attempt to impress Riyo,” Obi-Wan mused, raising his bottle of tonic. He had enough on his mind without worrying about Ahsoka breaking her neck trying look cool.

Which, knowing her, would not be surprising at all.

Fives interpreted his sudden frown in a different way. “Are you all right, Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, yes,” he replies quickly, but then, the events of the morning returned to the forefront of his mind. He sighed. “Not really.”

He told them about Qui-Gon’s card, and about the letter from the administration. Rex was outraged they had given him a deadline while he wasn’t even at Coruscant. Obi-Wan shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t have objected either way,” he said, “I don’t think I’d enjoy living by myself much longer.”

Fives bit her lips. She reached over and briefly squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I hope they’ll at least give the room to someone cool.”

Obi-Wan let out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, about that… I already have a roommate.”

The name ‘Skywalker’ was enough to elicit shocked gasps from the Kamino twins. “Are you serious?” Rex demanded, and Obi-Wan would be amused if it wasn’t for the lump of dread in the pit of his stomach. He just nodded.

“Obi-Wan, you have the _worst_ luck,” Fives looked appalled.

And he hadn’t even mentioned his history with Anakin. _You don’t know the half of it,_ he thought grimly.

***

With hair still damp from the shower and wearing only an old pair of sweatpants, Anakin wandered into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, downed it with a few big gulps, and poured another one. He leaned against the counter while he was drinking it.

Much to his relief, Threepio wasn’t at home. Anakin’s roommate annoyed the living hell out of him even when he wasn’t hungover, but on days like this, Threepio was downright unbearable. They had shared a dorm for about two years, and they had hated the arrangement from the start.

They were incompatible in every respect. While Anakin’s days started at noon and ended late in the night, Threepio got eight hours of sleep every night between 11 and 7. He complained about the quietest noises Anakin made, yet he was so profoundly clumsy that Anakin couldn’t count the times the sound of something falling had woken him up. Anakin didn’t cook and his part of the fridge was stacked with coke and beer; Threepio would barricade himself in the kitchen for hours on end, struggling with the latest recipe he had received in his Food Network newsletter or wherever he got this stuff. More often than not, he’d mess something up and in the next week, the kitchen would smell like there had been a fire. Once, there had been an _actual_ fire.

Above all, Threepio _complained._ He complained that Anakin’s music was too loud, that he got home too late, that his friends visited too often and stayed too long. His nagging had escalated and about a month ago, Threepio had told him he was going to the dorm administrators and demanding that Anakin be evicted.

That had been enough to give Anakin pause. Out of the two of them, he knew the administrators would believe the other guy. There were a handful of people whose words others wouldn’t take over his; most of those people were his friends. And if Threepio got him kicked out, he might as well say goodbye to Coruscant. He could not afford a place off-campus, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole situation cost him his scholarship. And he knew his meagre bartender’s wage was nowhere near enough to cover the tuition fees at Coruscant.

In short, Anakin had swallowed his pride and tried to plead with Threepio. He made sure to stress his predicament to his roommate, and he offered to apply for a new dorm himself. It would save Threepio the time and effort it would cost him to have Anakin evicted, and Anakin wouldn’t worry about losing his scholarship. In exchange, he would do his best to be a better roommate in the meantime. Maybe Threepio was intimidated by him, or he was a more decent person than Anakin gave him credit for, but he had agreed.

Now, a month later, Anakin was moving out. He had a hard time believing it. He had counted on being put on a waiting list and _staying_ there, because really, how many people moved out in the middle of the semester?

Apparently _someone_ did, he thought with a scowl. And now he was supposed to pack his possessions, his whole _life_ , and leave the apartment he had called home for the last three years. And he was moving to the _Temple_ , of all places. If someone had to go there, it should be Threepio.

Still, he reminded himself, it could have been worse. At least, he was staying at Coruscant.

He downed the rest of his water, placed the glass in the sink, and returned to his room. His floor was a minefield, littered with stuff of varying importance, and he heaved a sigh. He would have to pack _all of that?_

He still had a week until he had to move, so he just made his way to his bed and threw himself on it. He had time for a nap.


	2. The Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! a big thank you to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos on chapter one! i appreciate any and all feedback <3 
> 
> (tentative warning: some mention of alcohol abuse and mild suicidal ideation in this chapter.)

The week floated past Anakin, almost unnoticed in a haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol. His co-worker was down with the flu, so Anakin had to take his shifts. He made up for the long stretches of working behind the counter with copious drinking; the earlier part of the days blended together. He was supposed to move out on Tuesday; on Monday, he hadn’t started packing.

He was lying on his bed, cradling his guitar. His arms wrapped naturally around it, and brushing his fingers over the strings had brought a smile to his lips. He strummed a simple succession of chords to warm up, his thoughts drifting to the song he had been working on. His hands followed suit and started playing the bits he had figured out so far.

He went through the motions effortlessly, but the piece felt… flat. Uninspired. He had been experimenting with his music recently, moving away from the aggressive, angry style that characterised _The Chosen Ones’_ tracks, but nothing that he had come up with felt _right._ During the semester, it was hard to find time for experimentation between all the work that was expected from them, and now that he was on break, Anakin was feeling exhausted and unmotivated. Doubt stirred in his mind, and threatened to throw him into a familiar downward spiral.

Anakin sighed. He couldn’t do this right now. He put the guitar aside. His bag was at the foot of his bed; he dug into it and fished out his cigarettes. When he swung the window open, cold air gushed into the room. He filled his lungs and felt his head clear. He fumbled with his lighter, the wind causing the tiny flame to flicker out before he could light his cigarette. Finally managing to, he closed his eyes as the smoke flooded his body.

He pulled up on the window sill, letting his legs hang outside, and looked at the ground two stories under.

While he was smoking, he wondered what would happen if he jumped.

A couple of minutes later, he had finished his cigarette and threw the bum out of the window. He climbed back into the room. His eyes moved between his suitcase and the cardboard boxes waiting for him, and he sighed. It was time to get to work.

He had accumulated a lot of junk in the three years he’d been living at Coruscant. He found recording equipment he hadn’t used, clothes he had used to wear and then forgot (and good thing, too; he had no idea how he had used to think a see-through crop top was a good fashion choice). Some of the junk went straight to the trash; the rest he haphazardly threw into his suitcase and the cardboard boxes he had scrambled together. He took his posters off the walls, along with the pictures of him with _The Chosen Ones_ , of Padmé, his mother and a few others. The posters were rolled together and secured with elastic bands. The pictures – placed between the pages of his notebook. Before he closed the notebook, his eyes lingered on the topmost photo. It was an old one, he was probably eight or nine, and he stared at the camera with the self-assured, hopeful smile he hadn't quite been able to muster since then. On his left, his mother kneed next to him. She wore light blue jeans and a beige turtleneck sweater, and her hair was tied in a messy side bun. Dark locks had escaped from it and cascaded around her face, only softening her features further. Anakin was struck with the recollection of her smell, vanilla and cigarette smoke and something sweet and warm, which he could only describe as _light._

On Anakin's right, another, slightly older boy smiled at the camera. Strawberry blonde hair framed his face; his expression was calm, but his blue eyes were guarded. Still, his left arm lay comfortably around Anakin's shoulders, and Anakin's right gripped him around the waist.

Anakin had forgotten he had that picture. He had found it only a couple of days ago, when he had remembered to check who he would be moving in _with._

_Obi-Wan Kenobi._

He knew Obi-Wan also went to Coruscant, of course. He was in the year above Anakin, and he was one of those people you knew _about_ , even if you didn't have anything to do with them. Intelligent, dedicated, and immensely talented, he was the poster boy of Coruscant. Like Anakin, he was also in a band with some of his fellow students. Anakin hadn't listened to _Negotiators,_ but boy, had he heard of them.

Anakin slammed the notebook shut. Of all the people they could put him in an apartment with, of course he would get the one who A, was his opposite in every possible way, and B, had used to be his best friend.

Anakin had a bad feeling about this.

He looked around the room that would only be his for another twenty-four hours. The drawers and the shelves had been emptied, but he still needed to tackle his closet. Still, the room suddenly felt too cramped for him. He looked at the boxes piled precariously on his desk, and he pictured them toppling on top of him, burying him under the weight of his own possessions.

He needed to get out.

He grabbed his headphones and cigarettes and all but ran for the door.

***

It was Tuesday. According to the administration notice, that was when Anakin would be moving in.

Obi-Wan hadn't gotten in touch with him, so he had no idea if he should be around when he came. Should he help him move? Surely, Anakin would have a lot of stuff to carry from his old room. Did he even have a keycard? It would be terrible if he came all the way across campus to find out he had no means of unlocking his door, and no roommate to do so for him. On the other hand, Obi-Wan didn't want to impose on Anakin or invade his personal space by assuming his help was needed. Anakin was popular; there would probably be a small army of people carrying his stuff for him. And Obi-Wan would rather not deal with _that._

In fact, he wasn't sure he was dealing, by any definition of the word, with _any_ of this.

Caught between his conflicting thoughts and mounting anxiety, Obi-Wan was saved by his phone ringing.

He put away the book he had ostensibly been reading and looked at the screen. _Ahsoka,_ caller ID informed him. Smiling, Obi-Wan picked up.

"Obi-Wan!" a bright, grinning voice greeted him. "Guess who touched ground at Coruscant at," she paused, undoubtedly checking her watch, "9:46 today! You miss me?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Obi-Wan chuckled. "I was starting to think you were never going to grace us with your presence."

"I would never abandon you, Obi-Wan," Ahsoka vowed solemnly, then he could hear her smile again. "I admit I got carried away on my break, but the weather was perfect, and the snow, and—"

"And Riyo Chuchi, I imagine," Obi-Wan couldn't help but quip.

Ahsoka gasped into the receiver. "Obi- _Wan_ , are you insinuating I have any interest in Riyo other than pure platonic friendship?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan drawled out, "Does pushing her against a wall and kissing her brains out count as _pure platonic friendship_?"

Ahsoka let out a startled laugh. "Why does it still surprise me when you say something like this? I should know by now your head is as deep in the gutter as the rest of us."

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," Obi-Wan quoted, keeping his voice deadpan.

"And there we go," Ahsoka said flatly, "there's the nerd we all know and love."

"Where else would he be?" And just like that, anxiety’s grip on Obi-Wan loosened. "You had no problems on the way here, I hope?"

"None whatsoever." He imagined she was shaking her head energetically. "I was actually calling to ask if you wanted to grab some food with me. Barriss isn't home yet and my fridge is utterly and completely _empty_."

That settled his internal conflict. "I'd love to," Obi-Wan said, relieved to have the decision made for him. "I need to put on something more presentable than my pyjamas. I can meet you in the cafeteria in… how does thirty minutes sound?"

"Make it forty, I _really_ need to take a shower."

"Got it. I'll see you then."

"I can't wait!" With that, Ahsoka hung up. Still smiling, Obi-Wan put his phone aside and stood up to start getting dressed.

***

Anakin scooped up his remaining shirts and stuffed them into a duffle bag. With that, he was done packing. And just in time, too; it was nearing noon. He was supposed to "vacate the premises" before 1 pm, as Threepio had informed him. Trust a guy with a nickname like that to say _vacate the premises_.

Whatever _vacating_ he was about to do, he would have to do it on his own. Both Asajj and Darth were busy today, and other than his bandmates, Anakin didn't really know who he could ask for help. He wasn't sure Padmé was back from her snowboarding holiday yet, and if she was, she had been driving all night. He would rather let her rest than have her lugging boxes across campus.

Of course, he could have asked Obi-Wan for help. And he probably would have, if the thought of meeting the man didn't make his stomach clench. He wasn't sure how he felt about their meeting – reunion? – but as it was, he would rather postpone it as much as possible.

So, he armed himself with his leather jacket, beanie, and fingerless gloves to keep the cardboard from chafing his hands, and picked up the first boxes.

The January air was as cold against his face as always, but after only a couple of minutes, his pulse had sped up and he started getting warmer. The Temple was all the way across campus; by the time he made it there, he was sweating. He dropped the boxes in front of the entrance. He fished his keycard out of his jeans' pocket and unlocked the door. Holding it open while he picked up the boxes and half-carried, half-pulled them inside was no easy affair, and he hoped no one was around to witness him fumbling like a complete klutz.

At least his room was on the first floor. He found 187a with relative ease, managed to unlock it without dropping anything, and just like that, he was in his new home.

He put the boxes down by the door.

Late morning light was streaming through the double window on the opposite wall, painting the pale green walls in a colder hue. There was a desk under the window, with the bed snuggled in the corner between it and the left-hand wall. A small fridge stood at the foot of the bed and a closet identical to his occupied the opposite side of the room. Several shelves were nailed to the wall on the left of the closet; a full-height mirror was propped on its right. A door on Anakin’s left led into the kitchen. It was closed now, and Anakin didn't feel up to exploring beyond it.

He stood at the door, barely daring to breathe. He took in the small room with its minimalistic white furniture, and it was simple, clean and still smelling of detergent, and it felt so cold. It was almost identical to his old room, and completely different. How would he feel at home here?

He reminded himself he was still at Coruscant, and it was still very much his home, and the thought steadied him. He tossed his jacket to the bed and headed out to get the next boxes.

It took another six or seven courses until he had moved all of his stuff into 187a. His guitars came last. He rested the two cases against the wall next to the mirror. Standing up, he looked around at all the boxes. The muscles in his arms throbbed, sore after a more thorough workout than he had done recently. He stretched and ran his fingers through his damp hair. His shirt was damp as well, and it clung to his shoulders. He pulled it off. He onlt had a sleeveless shirt underneath, and the cool air was pleasant against his exposed arms.

His headphones were in his bag. He plugged them in, put them on, and, turning up the volume, got to unpacking.

***

Obi-Wan ended up hanging out with Ahsoka the whole morning. After she had devoured an overflowing plate of scrambled eggs and a bowl of cereal, they had gotten coffee. They had found a bench outside, warmed by the faint sunlight, and they'd sat there for hours, sipping their drinks and catching up.

The couple of weeks in the mountain had done Ahsoka well. Her already deep brown skin had a sun-kissed glow to it. She complained about being sore all over, but her whole expression was bright and vibrant. Obi-Wan basked in his friend's light, glad that at least she had enjoyed her break.

After she had talked a while, a worried frown clouded her face. There was a lull in the conversation as she looked at him thoughtfully. "Obi-Wan," she started. Her voice was lower, hesitant now. "I'm sorry I left you here alone."

Obi-Wan's brows shot up and he had to laugh. "'Left' me? What are you talking about?"

"Well, you know," she fumbled with one of her bracelets. "With Qui-Gon moving out just before the break, I should have stayed here with you. Instead, I went off to have fun with other people."

"Ahsoka," Obi-Wan laughed again, before reaching over and taking his hand in both of his. "First of all, I'm okay. I can take care of myself, and nothing has happened that would warrant your cancelling your plans on my account. I know how much you were looking forward to your time with Riyo and the last thing I'd want would be to ruin that for you." He let go of her hand to pat her dreadlocks affectionately. "Plus, I wasn't even alone. I went home."

Ahsoka eyed him skeptically. "That's part of the problem! You _hate_ being home."

"I don't _hate_ it. It's a bit stressful sometimes, that's all. Nothing I can't handle."

"I just don't want you to have to handle it on your own." She held his gaze, and Obi-Wan saw how deeply she meant it. He looked away, feeling unworthy of having such a friend.

After another moment of thoughtful silence, Ahsoka took a deep breath. "Do you still miss him?"

Obi-Wan shrugged sheepishly. What could he say? That Qui-Gon had occupied such a big place in his life, and then he had cut himself out, leaving the edges frayed and bleeding? That beyond missing his friend, Obi-Wan felt regret for all the things he hadn't said? That the thought of everything that could be different if he had tried harder, if he had been better? He could hardly admit any of that to himself, let alone to his friend. "It feels empty without him," he admitted. "But at least I'm getting a new roommate soon. Today, in fact."

"You are _what?!"_

He told her everything, starting from when he arrived at Coruscant after the break. Ahsoka listened in stunned silence. When he finished, mentioning how glad he was to have a reason not to be at home right now, she just kept staring at him.

"Anakin Skywalker is moving in with you?" she asked a full minute later. "Anakin Skywalker is moving in with you _right now?"_

"He is moving into Qui-Gon's old room, we're only going to share the—"

"Yes, I know you're only going to share the kitchen and bathroom, but this is so surreal. Didn't you guys know each other when you were little?"

He nodded. "It's been ages since we last talked, though."

"Don't you think you should probably help him settle in?"

"Do you think I should help him settle in?"

Ahsoka was nodding before he had finished his sentence.

Obi-Wan sighed. "You're right.” He tried to suppress a grimace at his next words. “I'd better head back there then?"

"I think so." She sprang up, throwing her messenger bag on her shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you to the Temple."

***

Some time later, Obi-Wan was standing in the shared kitchen of apartment 187, in front of his roommate's door. It was slightly ajar.

Obi-Wan thought back to the time Qui-Gon and he had stopped closing their doors. They would walk into each other’s rooms without worrying about knocking. When either of them tried to compose or record something, the other would often lean on the door frame to listen, or even wander inside. It had felt so easy, so natural that Obi-Wan had allowed himself to hope that maybe, given enough time…

Of course, there hadn’t been enough time. Qui-Gon had refused to listen to him, and when Obi-Wan had persisted, he had – both literally and figuratively – slammed his door in his face.

Obi-Wan shook the thought out of his head. This wasn’t Qui-Gon’s door anymore, and the last thing he wanted was for Anakin to catch him standing in front of it like a kicked puppy.

For the moment, however, that didn’t seem likely. If the sounds coming from within Anakin’s room were anything to go by, he was busy trying to move some very heavy objects.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and knocked on the door. He straightened his back, ran a hand through his hair, and donned what he hoped was a friendly and welcoming expression.

No one answered.

For a long moment, there was only silence, and then the sounds from inside resumed.

Obi-Wan's expression faltered. He considered returning to his room, or maybe going out. Maybe he could look into getting his own place off-campus—surely the rent couldn’t be that much higher?—and this whole situation could be avoided.

He then told himself he was overreacting. Anakin had probably not heard him, he didn’t have to make emigration plans just yet.

He raised his fist to knock again. Before he could, there was the sound of something heavy hitting a cardboard box, a surprised yelp, and then a _thump_ and a groan.

Startled, Obi-Wan pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

Anakin Skywalker stared at him from the floor, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in an almost cartoony expression of surprise.

A long, painful moment of silence.

Then, Anakin yanked his headphones off his ears and exclaimed, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I—I," Obi-Wan said, very eloquently.

The sight of Anakin, sprawled on the floor as he was and now flushing a fierce red, had caught him completely unprepared. Anakin's long, lanky limbs seemed to occupy the better part of the room. He was wearing ripped black jeans which were just short of too tight and a black tank that bared his arms and a big portion of his chest. Tattoos covered the skin of both arms – black and white on the right, colourful on the left. Obi-Wan glimpsed a black outline on his chest, too. Anakin's hair was a mop of unruly dirty blonde curls, now matted with sweat. Under the messy fringe, his light blue eyes narrowed in anger.

Obi-Wan swallowed with difficulty.

Anakin scrambled to his knees and rubbed his butt with a tortured grimace.

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan finally managed. “I heard you shout, so I figured I’d see if you were all right.”

Anakin threw him a dirty look. “I'm _fine._ Besides, how did you manage to come so quickly, have you been lurking by the door or something? _"_

Obi-Wan felt his embarrassment all but vaporise, overtaken by the impulse to roll his eyes. “I wasn't _lurking_ , in fact, I had just _knocked_. But apparently you're providing all of Coruscant City with background music, so I'm not surprised you didn't hear." And indeed, he could hear the deep bass coming from Anakin’s headphones from where he was standing.

Even as he was talking, Anakin turned the music off. His glare, however, didn't falter. "How loud I play my music is decidedly none of your business!"

"As long as you're living in _my_ apartment, it is!" Obi-Wan regretted the words before he was done saying them, but the other man's obnoxious behaviour incensed him.

Anakin jerked back, as if the words had taken him by surprise. He recovered quickly and snarled back, “Or what, you gonna bitch to the residence administrators?”

“I wouldn’t—I only wanted to see if I could help you settle.”

“I don’t need your help.”

The words stung, and Obi-Wan hoped he managed to keep the hurt from showing on his face. “That much is obvious. I’m sorry I bothered you.” Without another word, he span on his heel and left the room.

***

Obi-Wan slammed the door behind his back and Anakin buried his face in his hands. His skin burned with humiliation and anger. Of all the ways his meeting with Obi-Wan could have gone down, probably the only worse one would have been if they had started physically fighting. Taken aback and embarrassed, he had done the one thing he was good at: lashed out in an outburst of anger that was wildly disproportionate to the situation.

And he had wondered why Obi-Wan hadn’t tried to rekindle their friendship for the three years they had been at the same school.

He groaned, grabbed the notebook that lay on the desk next to him, and sent it hurtling at the wall. It collided against it with the _smack_ of a vicious slap. His photos, carefully stacked so soon before, flew in all directions and scattered on the floor like oversized confetti.

Anakin stared at the mess. The room had been his for less than a day, and he claimed it the only way he knew how: by wreaking chaos. His shoulders sagged. He turned away, kicked his way between the boxes, and threw himself on the bed.

He dug his face into the bare mattress until he couldn't breathe. He lay like that for a while until his heart stared racing again and his lungs constricted in need of oxygen. When he couldn't take it any longer, he rolled to the side. He eyed all the unopened boxes before closing his eyes.

A muffled, resigned click of a door from the other part of the apartment let him know Obi-Wan had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note: i think from now on, i'm gonna update this once a week, on sunday. there's a whole lot still to be written and i'm getting distracted by other projects (and uni, there's also that). so, i'll see you in a week, thanks for reading!


	3. Common Ground

Obi-Wan had never been more grateful for the end of a holiday. His first class was at 8 on Wednesday morning; at 7:30, he was sitting in the empty hall. Only the rich and bitter coffee aroma from the thermos cup clutched between his hands anchored him to the waking word. He took a long sip of the bitter black drink. It burned his tongue. He grimaced and took another sip.

He wasn't even a black coffee person.

Ahsoka appeared about fifteen minutes before class started. There were already some other people in the hall, but she locked in on him where he was sitting all the way in the back. She hopped up the stairs, threw her bag on the table next to his, and dropped on the chair with a huff.

"Mornin'!" she announced, and Obi-Wan nodded. It was, indeed, morning. "Don't you look like a ray of sunshine today. You doing all right?"

"I got you coffee," Obi-Wan evaded the question. He slid the cooling vanilla latte to her and was rewarded with a thankful grin.

Ahsoka downed at least a third of the cup in one go. She licked her lips in cat-like content. " _Nice_. And what are you having?" She peered into his cup. "Since when can you even _stand_ black coffee, Mr. Vanilla Soy Milk Caramel Macchiato?"

"I needed the liquid version of a slap in the face," Obi-Wan explained.

Ahsoka's brows arched in concern. "What's wrong?" Then she answered herself. "I'm guessing the reunion didn't go down too well."

"Not even by a very loose definition of 'well'," he replied. "We had a fight. Then I left and when I came back, he had gone out. I don't think he had returned when I left for class today."

"That explains what you're doing here while the average college student is snoozing their alarm clock for the ninth time."

He shot her a sideways glare.

Ahsoka didn't ask him any more questions and they sipped their drinks in comfortable silence until the professor came.

Both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were graduating at the end of the school year. As such, they only shared the Advanced Music Theory class; everything else they had in the remaining semester and a half was major-specific.. Ahsoka was majoring with a vocal emphasis, while Obi-Wan, after a lot of consideration, had decided to do a Composition emphasis.

He had only a handful of classes to attend, but he needed to turn in a paper in a week’s time. That, he decided, was a good enough reason to move into the library for the foreseeable future. When he wasn't in one of the auditoriums or the classroom where his tutorials took place, he went to the central building of the Coruscant School of Music, where the main music library was situated. In the mornings, he spent just enough time in the dorm to take a shower and make himself some breakfast that he then ate on his way, and in the evening, he subsisted on canteen food to avoid cooking at home.

The arrangement worked for him—for all of three days. At 7:00 on Saturday morning, he was staring at his dishevelled, bloodshot reflection in the bathroom mirror when he realised that one, he was overreacting, and two, he hated feeling like an intruder in his own apartment.

When he heard the door of 187a open, he realised a third thing: He was going to try to fix that.

Before he lost his courage, he marched into the kitchen.

Anakin was just walking in, carrying with him the smell of sweat, tobacco, and alcohol. He stopped dead in his tracks and his bloodshot eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. For a moment, both of them stood at the thresholds of their respective doors, gauging each other's expressions.

"Hey," Obi-Wan said, plainly.

Anakin's shoulders relaxed. "Hey." He stepped farther into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Obi-Wan took this to mean he could continue. "We got off on the wrong foot.” He observed as the other man took out a can of coke. "I'd like to start over."

Anakin downed the contents of his can. When he was done, he nodded. "Alright." He stared at his hands thoughtfully, and Obi-Wan noticed he didn't seem all that stable on his feet. "Look,” he started, rubbing his eyes. “Can we please not do it right now, though? I had a long shift, and Fridays are the _worst._ " He ran a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. "Plus, I don't think I'm completely sober yet." He punctuated the last word with a hiccup.

Obi-Wan considered. "Fair enough. Will this evening be a good time?"

Anakin shook his head and had to support himself on the counter. "Workin' again. Bit earlier, say, five-ish? I'm gonna grab something to eat before work."

"All right. I'll meet you at 5 today in the canteen." With that settled, he gestured at his door. "I'll get going, then. Don't let me keep you from your rest."

"Aeyup," Anakin drawled. "Seeya later, Kenobi."

"See you."

As Anakin half-swaggered, half-stumbled into his room, Obi-Wan followed him with his eyes.

***

If someone could oversleep for a 5 pm appointment, it was Anakin.

He woke up exactly fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet Obi-Wan in the canteen, and promptly proceeded to curse himself, his alarm clock, the shots he’d done last night, and his _damnedfuckingshit_ headache, so bad it felt like someone had cracked his skull open and poured acid inside.

His well of expletives hadn’t exhausted when he burst into the shower. As quickly as he could, he washed off the residues of last night and by the time he darted out of the apartment, he was feeling more like himself.

He made it into the canteen at twenty past, panting from running all the way.

Obi-Wan was sitting at one of the tables at the far side of the room; Anakin spotted his reddish blond hair. He made his way between the tables, too impatient to go down one of the aisles. The people who recognised him hastily stepped out of the way, but he didn’t deign to look at them.

Obi-Wan sat with his back completely straight, elbows rested on the table, engrossed in the book he was holding. A tea mug stood by his elbow, next to his bag. He had rolled up the sleeves of his light blue turtleneck sweater.

When Anakin reached his table, Obi-Wan raised his eyes and looked at him over the rim of his rectangle glasses.

“Here I am!” Anakin announced, albeit breathlessly, and dropped on the chair across from Obi-Wan. “What’d I miss?”

His cheeky attitude failed to impress Obi-Wan. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

Anakin ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t hear my alarm clock. Or I heard it and turned it off. I don’t remember.” Forcing his embarrassment aside, he met Obi-Wan’s eyes. They were just slightly darker than his sweater, warm even as they narrowed in annoyance. “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan looked at him with his head tilted, and Anakin felt like he was being evaluated. He fought against the impulse to look away. Then, a smile grazed Obi-Wan’s lips and Anakin couldn’t help returning it.

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan said. “I thought you wanted to eat?”

“Right.” As if on cue, his stomach growled quietly. It reminded him he hadn’t eaten in the last 24 hours. He sprang up from his chair. “You not getting anything?” he asked as Obi-Wan gave no indication he was following.

“No, I’m not hungry. I’ll wait for you here.”

Anakin all but jogged across the cafeteria. There wasn’t much left, considering the time of day, but he did find some fries. He filled his plate with a generous amount of fatty crispy goodness and proceeded to the register.

“So,” he said, back at the table, before he dug into the mountain of fries in his plate, “you wanted to discuss something?”

“That’s right.” Obi-Wan fingered the collar of his sweater. “Since we’re apparently going to have to live together, we need to establish some ground rules.”

“Rules?” Anakin echoed, his mouth full of fries.

Obi-Wan raised his brows, reminding Anakin of his old piano teacher. _Their_ old piano teacher, he corrected himself. He wondered if that’s where the expression had come from. He wondered if it had occurred to Obi-Wan.

Anakin nodded and swallowed. “What rules, then?”

“Right, so.” Obi-Wan smoothed out his already smooth hair. “I wish you could do your dishes instead of just leaving them on the table. If you can’t do it right away, at least rinse them off and leave them in the sink.”

Anakin wished he would be more annoyed at Obi-Wan’s reasonable request. Instead, he found himself nodding.

“Also, I’m not going to make you go outside to smoke, but I would appreciate it if you open the window while you do or afterwards.”

“Got it.” Threepio had insisted he should not smoke inside, and Anakin had had to go out on the emergency stairs of their floor when he did. At least, most of the times.

Obi-Wan gave him a small smile, more a quick tug of the corners of his mouth than anything. “And one last thing,” he said, “I don’t know if you’re seeing anyone, but if… if someone’s coming over, just let me know beforehand. I will get out of your hair.”

Anakin gave him his signature smirk. “I’ll do my best. These things are notoriously difficult to schedule, you know.”

Obi-Wan made a show of rolling his eyes. “You can add this to the list: I don’t want to hear about your hook-ups.”

Barking out a laugh, Anakin shrugged. “Fair enough.”

"I think that's all." Obi-Wan rubbed his chin. "On my end, anyway. Do you have anything to add?"

"Huh?" Anakin glanced at him and the fry he was trying to put in his mouth fell to the table. He pretended his dignity hadn't suffered a blow and quickly grabbed another one.

"Any rules or requests you want to make?" There was it again, the smile hiding in the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. Anakin wondered if he was being made fun of.

He took his time swallowing before he replied. "I don't have any, no. Except, I guess let me know if you need privacy for your own… hook-ups."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I don't think that's going be an issue."

Part of Anakin wanted to ask why. Did Poster-Boy Kenobi take his studies so seriously, or did he just hate having fun? As it occurred to him that line of questioning would hardly contribute to their newly established status of peaceful roommates, he let it go. "Alright." There were a handful of fries still on his plate. He stuffed half of them in his mouth.

Obi-Wan was staring at—or through?—him, and Anakin got the feeling he wanted to say something. When no sound came from him, Anakin cocked an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?"

"Huh?" Obi-Wan's eyes focused on his before he glanced away. "Nothing. In fact, I think I'm going to get going." He downed the rest of his cup; Anakin caught a whiff of bergamot and cinnamon. "Thank you for your time."

Anakin furrowed his brow. Their actual meeting had taken less than the time Obi-Wan'd spent waiting for him, but he _still_ thanked him. If Anakin was in his place, he would probably whine into next semester.

_Maybe that's just because you're a terrible person,_ a voice whispered in his ear. "I—" he spoke over it, "Yeah. Sure. Thank you for meeting me here."

Obi-Wan got to his feet and picked up his bag. "I'll see you later, Anakin. Have a nice shift."

With one last nod, Obi-Wan was on his way, leaving Anakin alone with his cooling fries.

Anakin scowled at nothing in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, see you in a week! <3


	4. Downhill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title for this chapter: everything is going Great for anakin (just like in canon really)
> 
> at any rate, thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! i'm glad you're enjoying this, stay tuned for chapter 5 next sunday! <3

The sky was bleeding a cold drizzle when Anakin left for work. Without even the cloud-wrapped ghost of the sun to warm the air, his teeth started chattering almost as soon as he left the Temple. He pulled up his hood and shoved his hands into his pockets, heading for the bus stop at a brisk pace.

The Coruscant campus was separated from the road leading to the city by a wide open space. A few months later, it would be covered with a bright green blanket of grass; right now, it was black and muddy. In the evening dark, Anakin kept slipping on the patches of dead weeds and sinking in puddles of various depths. He tried not to think what his jeans would look like and concentrated on not falling on his butt.

The bus stop appeared in his line of sight just as his bus rolled to a halt. Anakin breathed out a curse – he was still a good hundred metres away. He broke into a sprint.

For a few seconds, it looked like he would make it. Then, he saw the bus’s doors slide shut and its turn signal blinked into life. Anakin sped up, almost tripping as soft ground gave way to pavement.

The bus sped off.

Anakin ran a few more steps after it, flipping the driver off in the rear view mirror. Then, for good measure, he drove his foot into the nearby trashcan.  

"Dammit!" he hissed as pain shot through his toe all the way up to his knee. He limped towards the timetable, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. Sheev insisted he should always arrive at least fifteen minutes before the start of his shift, and Anakin did _not_ want to be on the receiving end of his boss’s displeasure.

According to the timetable, the next bus should come in twenty minutes. If it wasn’t late, he should make it to the _Death Star_ in time.

Anakin lit a cigarette and contented himself with waiting.

***

He arrived at the bar with a soaked-through hood, numb fingers, and laboured breathing that made his lungs ache. His shift was starting in seventeen minutes. A small smirk cracked the scowl frozen on his face—he had made it after all.

The bare black door was locked, but he had a key. He walked in and down the flight of stairs that led towards the _Death Star._ The interior was dark, heavy with the lingering smell of cigarettes, and only the bright white spotlights above the bar were on.

Even so, he navigated the dark space effortlessly. He walked around the counter, pushing past the low swinging door, and dropped his bag next to the register. He saw the door to the back room was open. He stepped in to find Sheev, the _Death Star'_ s owner and his boss, sitting at the desk.

The older man looked up from the form he was filling out. "Anakin, my boy." He bared his teeth in a wide grin. "I'm glad you made it here earlier. The speaker next to the entrance is acting up again. There's this weird cracking noise."

Anakin sighed, nodding. "I'll go check it out right away."

"Excellent." Sheev returned to his task. Before Anakin had made it out of the room, however, Sheev called after him. "One more thing. Can you work next Thursday?"

"I actually have a class Friday morning," Anakin turned around to look at his boss. He had already missed the class this week because of working the day before.

Sheev just looked at him with an expectant smile that died on the way to his eyes, and Anakin felt himself falter under the cold stare. He could use the extra cash anyway.

"Fine. I'll take the shift."

"Great!" Having gotten the answer he'd wanted, Sheev focused on his work.

Anakin took the hint. He found the bar's toolbox in a nook under the counter, switched on the lights, and went to inspect the defect speaker.

He had been working at the _Death Star_ since his second year at Coruscant, but it still struck him how different the bar looked when closed. The bare concrete floor and black-painted walls, which seemed cool in a grungy, industrial kind of way when the multicoloured spotlights were on, were downright ugly under better lighting. The furniture, also black and minimalistic, bore the scars of heavy usage in the form of myriad scratches, mismatched legs and at least one roll of duct tape that held various broken pieces together.

Anakin had even smuggled a chair out of the Coruscant canteen once to replace the one that had fallen victim to one patron's violent outburst. It still stood at one of the corner tables, the red-coated metal sticking out against the otherwise black interior.

Anakin pulled a nearby table to climb up on so he could unhook the speaker from the wall. He opened its body and peered inside.

While he was tinkering with the speaker, he thought about how often that'd been happening recently: Sheev had him spend more and more time working, taking more shifts as well as acting as a technician as much as a bartender. On one hand, that meant more money, which Anakin keenly needed. Still, it was taking its toll on his classes, as well as on the general level of energy he could spend on music outside of class. In the week since the break's end, he hadn't made it to a single morning class. He just knew the moment he set foot in a classroom, he would have to explain his absence.

The thought made his stomach clench. When he had been offered the Coruscant scholarship three years ago, one of the clauses had been he would not miss more than 15% of his classes. In the light of everything that had happened during his first year, he knew the professors were willing to be more lenient with him, but their patience was wearing thin. Windu had called him into his office after the last class before the break and he’d made it clear that Anakin needed to change something if he wanted to have a future at Coruscant.

The screwdriver he had been holding rattled to the floor. He realised his hands were shaking. He didn’t know _what_ to change, it was all just too much. He needed to work, but he could not stand the thought of his life if he got kicked out of Coruscant. He stared at the dismantled speaker in front of him, the screwdriver, the box containing the rest of the tools. That might be his life if he didn’t graduate.

His heart was speeding up. Resting his head back against the wall, he forced his breath into a slow, deliberate rhythm. He just needed to take it one step at a time. He would worry about the next thing when its time came.

Until then, he needed a drink.

***

Later that night, when the _Death Star_ had opened to welcome the Saturday crowd and Anakin had washed his anxiety off with a beer and several tequila shots, he saw Ventress materialise from the darkness and saunter towards the counter.

He finished up with the guy he was serving and turned towards her.

"Skywalker," she shouted over the loud music.

Anakin filled a glass with ice, covered them with vodka, and slid it to her. "What are you doing here?" he shouted back by way of greeting.

Ventress propped her sharp pointy elbows on the counter and leaned over to speak into his ear. "You weren't picking up your phone. I need to talk to you."

Anakin's stomach knotted. Whatever Ventress needed to talk about, it must be pretty important to make her come all the way to the _Death Star_ on a Saturday evening. "Alright." He pushed off the counter and motioned her to follow him.

He patted Tarkin on the shoulder as he passed by him. The other bartender looked up from the Mohito he was making and raised his shoulders in a silent question. Anakin pressed two fingers to his lips, a sign he was going out for a smoke, and Tarkin nodded.

Anakin grabbed Ventress's hand and pushed their way through the crowd into the cold night outside. The rain had stopped, but the temperatures had dropped further. He regretted not taking his jacket on the way out.

He released Ventress's hand to rub his upper arms. His t-shirt was slightly damp and a gust of wind caused goosebumps to ripple over his skin. "What's up?" he looked into Ventress's face.

Her sharp features were set in a scowl. "Well," she started, pale eyes looking from him to her feet and back up at him. She sighed. " _Malachor'_ s owner gave me a call tonight. She cancelled our gig there."

_"What?!"_ Anakin shouted, his voice shooting up an octave. "Why? What the hell for?"

Ventress shrugged. "She said she’d heard what happened at _Mustafar_ last time."

"Oh _God." Mustafar_ had been _The Chosen Ones'_ last gig before the holidays. It was a rundown location, the worst Coruscant's underground alternative scene had to offer, but it had been an opportunity. They had played several covers which had the small but eager crowd roaring in delight, but their original songs had been met somewhat less enthusiastically. During the third and last one of them, a guy had hurled his empty beer can at the scene. Albeit narrowly, it had missed Anakin's head, but it had been just too much for him to take. He had stopped playing and clambered off the scene and towards the offender. The crowd had parted under his glare.

Punching a _Mustafar_ patron straight in the face hadn't landed Anakin in the owner's good graces. Neither had the ensuing brawl, which had cost several glasses, bottles, and at least one bar stool.

Anakin buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Ventress had taken out her cigarettes; Anakin heard the click of her lighter, her deep inhale, and then a drawn-out sigh as she breathed out the smoke. “We need to find a new place for a gig, and fast. I don’t want this _Mustafar_ thing to escalate further.”

“Yeah.” He looked at Ventress through the hair that had fallen in his eyes. “If not, we’ll just rebrand and change our name.”

“Riiiight,” Ventress drawled, and both of them chuckled dryly.

“Have you told Maul?” Anakin inquired, and Ventress shook her head.

“Not yet. I will at practice tomorrow.” She pulled on her cigarette. “Actually, I think I’ll see you there. I'm meeting up with some friends. Wanna finish this?" she offered him the cigarette, and Anakin accepted it.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow." He gave her a crooked smile around the cigarette.

"You'd better be on time," Ventress poked her index finger into his chest, but she was smiling. "Take care, Skywalker."

Anakin looked after her as she disappeared into the night. He pulled on the cigarette absently, and was promptly overcome coughing. The brand Ventress smoked was much stronger than what he was used to.

"Anakin?"

He looked up through the tears that had welled up in his eyes. Sheev was observing him with an amused expression.

"Sorry, boss, I only went out for a—"

"That's fine, Anakin, don't worry about it. I was out for a smoke myself. In fact, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your friend."

"Oh." Anakin looked at his feet. How come neither of them had noticed the man lurking in the shadows?

Sheev pressed on, oblivious to Anakin's discomfort. "Your band doesn't have a venue?" he inquired.

"We…" Anakin sighed dejectedly. "It seems like we don't."

"A pity." Sheev clicked his tongue. Anakin's fingers and toes had started getting numb. After a long pause, Sheev hummed. "I think I might be able to help with that?"

"Yeah?" Anakin raised his brow, not bothering to hide his scepticism. "Do you happen to know the owners of any clubs?"

Sheev chuckled and gripped his bare upper arm. Anakin barely kept himself from recoiling. "How about the _Death Star?_ Could you see yourself and your friends playing here?"

"The _Death Star?"_ Anakin echoed with a disbelieving laugh. "We don't even have a stage! Let alone suitable sound equipment!"

"As a matter of fact, we do. They're in storage. It's been a while since I've wanted anyone to have a gig here. But for you, Anakin… well, I know how talented you are, you may be just what the _Death Star_ needs."

"How do _you_ know how talented I am, you haven't even heard me play!" Anakin objected.

Sheev just laughed. "It would take some work to put everything together, but I am confident you kids will manage. Unless you don't think it's a good idea?"

"N-no, I—" Anakin was cold, and his brain cells were swimming in alcohol, and he just wanted to get inside, but he tried to come up with a reasonable answer. "I think it might work, but I need to talk with the rest of my band first."

"Oh, by all means! Just let me know when you decide, so I can plan accordingly. Maybe _Death Star_ is ready for a return to the contemporary music scene."

"Yeah, that—that sounds good," Anakin managed. "Look, I'm cold, I'm gonna—"

"Yes, yes, let us go back inside," Sheev smiled at him, pressing a hand on his lower back and pushing him towards the entrance.

It took all of Anakin's remaining self-control not to jerk away from the other man's touch.

***

It had been an unusually relaxed night for a Saturday, and Anakin got off work around four. Eternally grateful it was Tarkin's turn to close, he grabbed his stuff and left for the bus stop before Sheev could accost him again.

His conversations with Sheev and Ventress had nagged at him throughout the night, and he hadn't felt like drinking. As a result, he felt sober, his head clear despite the dull exhaustion in his muscles. His ears were buzzing with the memory of loud music. For the first time that evening, luck was on his side: not only did his bus come almost immediately after he reached the stop, but it was blessedly empty. Anakin collapsed on a seat in the back, slouching all the way down to rest his knees on the seat in front of his and his head against the window pane.

The hum of the engine and the vehicle's gentle sway as it drove down the empty night roads were almost a lullaby for Anakin's tired body. Still, he could still feel the nervous tension in his core; the moment he got off the bus, he was once again completely, painfully awake.

The Temple was even quieter at night, oppressive in its calm. Anakin was overcome with the urge to _wake it up,_ to scream, to sound the alarms—anything that would break the illusion he was walking into a crypt.

As soon as he made it into his room, he stripped and got into the shower. He stood under the running water until it turned from scalding hot to lukewarm. The water helped most of the tension leave his body, washing it down the drain. Warmth pooled in his body and spread all the way to his fingertips, and for a moment, he could almost breathe freely again. Yet, the moment he crawled under his blanket, skin tingling with warmth, his treacherous thoughts careened away from him. Not only was he going to get kicked out of school, he would also never play live again because of his bad reputation. It was all too much, and he wasn’t good enough to keep up. He was twenty-one and his life was as good as over.

He tried to convince himself that was just his exhaustion and the late hour talking, but even so, he didn't get any sleep that night. Dawn found him curled up on his side, staring at the wall, projecting upon it all the worst-case scenarios his mind could come up with.

What could be a couple of minutes or a couple of hours later, he heard Obi-Wan stir in his room. His door opened, there were whispered footfalls across the kitchen, followed by the shower running. Anakin focused on the sounds, following Obi-Wan through his morning routine. After a while, he made out the fridge door opening.

Anakin made a decision before he realised he had been considering it. He slid out of bed, threw on the first clean t-shirt he found, and walked to his kitchen door.

Obi-Wan's head snapped up in surprised when Anakin opened the door. He had already gotten dressed, beige jeans and a burgundy V-neck sweater, but his hair was a tangle of damp strands that made him look less than perfectly awake.

"Good morning," Obi-Wan greeted, and his voice was lower than usual, warm and hoarse around the vowels. "I hope I didn't wake you."

Anakin hovered at the threshold, but then walked in and pulled one of the chairs. He had to clear his throat before his voice found its way to his lips. "You didn't. I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" Obi-Wan looked at him over his shoulder as he was placing a slice of bread in the toaster.

Anakin shrugged. "No idea. My brain just refuses to shut down. Been like this forever." He decided not to mention the nightmares that ambushed him when he did manage to fall asleep.

"Does alcohol help?" Obi-Wan asked, all but an off-hand comment, but Anakin knew he had noticed the habit.

He tried to match the nonchalant tone. "Depends," he admitted, "but it usually takes quite a lot of it to knock me out."

Obi-Wan nodded, "I see," and Anakin interpreted it as _'I disapprove.'_

"What are you doing up this early on a Sunday?" he asked, eager to change the trajectory of their conversation.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "It's 9:30, hardly early." His toast sprang out of the toaster and he reached to take it. "I have a piano lesson at 10:00." He raised his brows, as if weighing his last sentence. "One that I’m teaching, that is."

"You teach?" It hadn't occurred to Anakin that Obi-Wan might work too. As he thought about it, however, it wasn't hard to imagine Obi-Wan as a piano tutor. He could even picture a flock of middle-school kids looking at him adoringly.

"I do. I started during my first year here, and it's… well, I enjoy it a lot."

Obi-Wan was smiling to himself as he spread a thin layer of peanut butter on his toast.

"You must be very good at it," Anakin commented to his own surprise.

Obi-Wan's eyes shot towards him. "You think so?"

Anakin laughed with ease. "Well, you were tutoring _me_ when you were in middle school, so yeah, I imagine you've gotten even better with time. Plus, your pupils probably don't give you such a hard time."

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment, and Anakin imagined he was thinking back to when they had known each other as children. They had met when Anakin had been five, so there was a lot he didn't remember any more. They had gone to piano lessons with the same teacher; it had just so happened that one of them always had classes right after the other. Being around the same age, both of them the most skilled of their peers, they had taken to one another. They parents had started arranging play dates and eventually, they would spend at least every other afternoon together, at Obi-Wan's place or Anakin's, playing or talking or going through their piano exercises. Obi-Wan had made Anakin repeat the bits gave him trouble until he had mastered everything their teacher made him play. Both of them had advanced in leaps and bounds, but above all, they had become practically inseparable.

That is, until Obi-Wan had moved away.

Obi-Wan's voice brought Anakin back to the present. "I would hardly call that tutoring," he was saying, "and you never gave me a hard time. Well." He smirked. "Almost never."

Anakin chuckled. "You threw my PS controller at me once because I wouldn't stop complaining."

A peal of laughter rippled out of Obi-Wan, but the tips of his ears reddened. "Can you blame me?"

"I had a bruise for a _week_ ," Anakin pointed out, but he couldn't bite back his own grin. "But no, in fairness, I probably had it coming."

Obi-Wan's eyes bore into him and Anakin could tell he was contemplating something. Then his sombre expression melted away. "Do you want something to eat or drink?" Obi-Wan asked instead.

Anakin shook his head. "I'm good."

Although Obi-Wan appeared unconvinced, he didn't push it. Silence ensued as he ate his toast. Anakin leaned back on the chair, alternating between looking at him and around the small room. His thoughts had stopped raging inside his skull, and he soaked up Obi-Wan's serene aura.

It didn't last as long as he would want it to. Having finished his breakfast, Obi-Wan rinsed the empty plate and put it away. "I need to get going," he said, lingering in the middle of the room.

Part of Anakin wished he didn't, that he wouldn't leave him alone with the forest fire inside his mind. "Okay," he said. "I'll try to… get some sleep or something."

"That's probably a good idea. Take care, Anakin."

When Obi-Wan left the room, Anakin wondered if he even knew how to.


	5. Comfort

“Do you miss him?”

Obi-Wan looked up from his laptop. “Excuse me?”

The book Ahsoka was supposed to be reading lay forgotten by her elbow; she had spent the last fifteen minutes flicking idly through her phone, but her eyes were now locked on Obi-Wan. “Qui-Gon. Do you still think about him?”

 _”Ahsoka,”_ Obi-Wan sighed, pointedly looking around. There were only a handful of other people at their table, but Ahsoka’s voice seemed to ring through the whole library. “Is now really the right time to talk?”

“Well, my social networks are ghost towns and I’d rather do anything but read this,” she poked at the book with her elbow, “so yeah.”

Before Obi-Wan could say anything, she pressed on. “Don’t give me your Dad Look, please. You’ve been sulking for two months now, you need to talk about it at _some_ point. And _yes,_ you definitely are sulking, don’t even deny it.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m worse at hiding this than I think.”

Ahsoka’s expression softened. She reached across the table and wove her fingers with his. “You’re not, I just know you.”

Obi-Wan gave her a half-hearted smile. “I do,” he started. “To both questions. Not as much as I used to, but some things remind me.”

“That’s normal.” Ahsoka squeezed his hand. “Take all the time that you need.”

“I think it would be different if I’d told him. Let him turn me down and moved on. But this, wondering what could have been if I hadn’t been so scared, it makes it so much harder.”

Ahsoka was nodding. “I understand that, but, Obi-Wan… I don’t think it would have been different. Qui-Gon is straight, isn’t he?”

“I _don’t know_ ,” Obi-Wan groaned, “I mean, he’s only dated girls, but that doesn’t mean anything. I just… I wish I hadn’t been such a chicken, you know?”

She looked at him with a sad smile. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Maybe.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “What about you and Riyo, how’s that going?”

“Oh _man,”_ Ahsoka drawled out, lying down on the table and grinning like a cat. “Riyo is the cutest person whose breath has sweetened the air on this planet and I would gladly lay down my life for her smile.”

Obi-Wan chuckled dryly. “It’s such a relief you’re not being melodramatic about this or anything.”

“I wrote a song about her last night.”

“You _what?!”_

The boy sitting three chairs over turned to glare at him and Ob-Wan raised his hand apologetically. He kept his voice down. “Ahsoka, you’ve officially become a romantic cliché. Have you made her a mixtape, too?”

“Har har,” Ahsoka stuck her tongue out at him. “Cliché or not, it seems to be working, because she’s coming over for dinner on Friday. Say, can you recommend any vegetarian aphrodisiacs?”

Obi-Wan stared at her for a long moment. Then his lips quirked in a smirk and he leaned forward. “Well, actually…”

***

After she had helped him hang his last poster, Padme sat down on Anakin’s bed. “That’s better,” she smiled at him.

Anakin plopped down next to her and both of them giggled as the bed shook with the impact. He laid his head down in her lap and Padme’s fingers brushed his fringe off his forehead.

His eyes closed and he arched his back to lean into the touch. “Thank you for the help,” he murmured.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with the actual move.” She had swung by his room in the afternoon with two cups of steaming hot cocoa and the intention to help him put up his posters and photos. At the sight of the boxes scattered across the floor and stacked on the desk, opened but unpacked, she had only raised her brows at him.

It had taken three hours and one of Padme’s “uplifting” playlists (which sounded to Anakin like a glorified Top 40 chart. He made it his mission to bash every song—at least until Padme saw him swaying his hips to the beat of _Sugar._ ), but they had made it. All of the boxes were empty, his belongings were in their new places, and his room was starting to feel like home.

“So, how’s it going with Obi-Wan?”

He considered the question. It had been about a week and a half since they’d met up in the canteen and at least they had overcome the initial hostility. For the most part, they went about their day to day lives without running into each other. On some evenings, Anakin came into the kitchen while Obi-Wan was making dinner. Their exchanges were brief and fleeting, small talk or teasing quips without malice. Anakin didn’t dwell on them, and he chose to ignore the warmth pooling in his chest in Obi-Wan’s presence.

“It’s all right,” he offered, “better than Threepio. Which is not particularly hard, come to think of it.”

Padme tugged his hair with more force. “Give the kid a break, Anakin.”

“The _kid_ almost had me kicked out!”

“And I am sure that was _completely_ undeserved.”

Anakin clutched his chest theatrically. “I have done nothing wrong in my life, ever.”

“I know, baby, I know.” She patted him on the top of the head and he didn’t even pretend he found it unpleasant.

Anakin hoped his noncommittal answer would have stilled her curiosity, but Padme was nothing if not persistent. “What was it like meeting him for the first time in years?”

He grimaced. She had a penchant for asking exactly the questions he could give no good answer to.

Or he just didn’t know the answers to a lot of questions. That was a definitive possibility.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s been so long and it’s not like we still run around playing tag and our mums give us lunchboxes for school. He probably doesn’t even remember we used to be close. I barely remember it too.”

“You still keep a picture of him,” Padme observed.

“I’ll have you know I look _adorable_ in that picture,” he tried for a light tone, but his throat constricted at the next words. “My mother’s also in the picture.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Ani.”

He didn’t reply, instead closing his eyes and leaning back in Padme’s lap.

His head was growing heavy, the frantic chase of thoughts in his head slowing to a crawl. It was easy to focus on her fingers combing through his hair, nails scratching his scalp ever so gently.

Before he could drift off, however, Padme stopped. She shuffled in place and Anakin forced himself to open his eyes. Padme’s met his and she smiled sadly. “I have to get going, Ani. I’m meeting Riyo for dinner.”

He pouted, but lifted his head so she could stand up. “I feel neglected,” he informed her.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.” She looked at him over the shoulder with the sort of smile that reminded him why he had used to be in love with her. “We can grab lunch together next week.”

“Sure. I’d like that.” He rolled up and got to his feet. Angry black blotches clouded his vision and he had to support himself on the desk until the dizziness passed. When he re-opened his eyes, Padme was watching him in concern.

“Are you all right?”

He waved it off. “I’m fine. Just haven’t eaten anything today.”

“ _Anakin_.”

“It’s fine, Padme, I’ll eat something now. Won’t you be late for your dinner?”

She hesitated, but nodded. “I’ll talk to you later.” With a quick hug and a peck on his cheek, she was gone.

Anakin looked after her until she disappeared around the corner, then went to raid his fridge.

***

"Okay, let's do the last part one more time," Ahsoka suggested.

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh but nodded. There was a moment of silence while Rex flicked through his notes, and then he began beating the rhythm. Fives's bass line added the next layer, and Ahsoka followed on guitar. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, listening intently to the harmonies as his fingers caressed the keys without pressing any. They had been at it for hours and his part sounded off whatever he did. At this point, he was tempted to scrap the entire thing.

They had deviated so much from the original idea they’d had for the track that the keyboard just didn’t fit anymore. Or rather, Obi-Wan couldn't _make it_ fit.

He groaned and dropped his head in his hands.

It was the end of January and they had about four months left to complete their EP. Sometimes, Obi-Wan wondered whose brilliant idea it had been to record a whole EP as a graduation project. They could have stuck to the safety of theory, written their thesis papers, and proceeded to write songs without the dread of imminent failure looming over their heads.

For better or for worse, however, they had made the decision and they had to follow through.

An arm wrapped around Obi-Wan's shoulders and a face rested on his shoulder. "It's fine, we'll figure it out," Ahsoka assured him.

"There just doesn't seem to be any room for keyboard in this song," Obi-Wan whined into his hands. "But without it, it just sounds…"

"Flat?" Rex offered.

"Exactly!" Obi-Wan whipped up. He turned to look at the rest of _Negotiators._ "I can't imagine how this song is going to work out, and we _need_ it to."

He waited for someone to say something, but the silence stretched on.

"Well," Fives broke it first, just as it was getting uncomfortable, "I propose that we call it a day. No use beating our heads into this wall any longer."

Ahsoka and Rex were quick to hum and nod their approval. Obi-Wan hesitated before sighing. "I guess that's reasonable." His shoulders dropped as he glanced at the keyboard and the crumpled stack of notes that had fallen to the floor. "It's not like the last three hours of beating our heads were very productive."

“It’s fine,” Ahsoka was rubbing comforting circles on his back, but she couldn’t quite hide her frown. It was usually Obi-Wan who reassured them and kept them going. Maybe because of his experience with tutoring, maybe because _Negotiators_ had, in a way, crystallised around him, he was also the one who held it together when they hit a rough patch.

And now it seemed to him he was the one pulling them back.

“Do you guys want to go grab something to drink? Or have an early dinner at our place or something?” Fives made another attempt to dispel the glum atmosphere, and the other two chimed in their approval again.

Obi-Wan straightened and stepped away from Ahsoka. Her hand dropped from his back. “Actually, you three go ahead. I think I’m going to head home. I need to make this song work."

Before anyone could object, he grabbed his coat and bag and left the rehearsal room. He stalked down the hallway and out of the building. Only when he made it outside did he realise how stuffy and claustrophobic it had been indoors.

The sky was the pale glistening blue of an icicle, and just as sharp inside his throat. Lances of sunlight struck the ground and pricked at his skin. He pulled up the collar of his coat. He had intended to go straight to his room, but his feet took him elsewhere, farther into the campus park. He walked at a brisk pace, his frustration subsiding with every step, until only a hollow heaviness in the pit of his stomach remained.

The sun was setting when he returned to his room. He was flushed with exertion, but the walk had centred him. He felt like he had several ideas as to how he could solve his big conundrum. He headed straight for his keyboard, discarding his coat on the bed.

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

An hour passed. He tried every combination he could think of, until everything blurred together into a nondescript mass of failures.

Obi-Wan sunk onto his bed, pulling his glasses up to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had spent every idea that he had, and it had left him feeling helpless and inadequate.

A knock on the kitchen door tore him from the dark spiral of his thoughts. He glanced up, startled, to see Anakin peer inside.

"Hi?" Anakin probed.

"Come on in, Anakin." Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm sorry, was I too loud? I didn't realise you were home."

Anakin made another step inside and leaned against the desk. "It's fine." He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a faded black t-shirt that had 'Shit Happens' written across the chest. His hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed. "I wasn't doing anything important anyway."

His eyes flicked across the room; Obi-Wan was grateful he had finally brought himself to put it in order.

"Oh." Obi-Wan stared at his knees. "Regardless, I'm sorry you had to listen to that."

"What's the problem?"

Obi-Wan shrugged and forced himself to meet Anakin's eyes. "I can't make the song work. Whatever I do, the keyboard part doesn't work, and without it, it sounds incomplete."

Anakin tilted his head, eyes fixed on Obi-Wan with an intensity he remembered from their childhood. "Have you tried the guitar?" he inquired.

Obi-Wan tried to follow the mental leap, and failed. "Excuse me?"

Anakin's whole face lighted up in an enthusiastic smile. "You play the guitar too, don't you? Maybe the song doesn't need a keyboard part, maybe it needs another guitar!"

Obi-Wan rubbed his neck. Anakin's idea had merit; in fact, how had _he_ not thought of it? A second later, he answered his own question. "I… don't have a guitar."

Anakin, who had swept farther into the room, skidded to a halt. His grin dimmed for a moment before reclaiming his features. "Well, _I_ do."

Before Obi-Wan could as much as open his mouth to protest, Anakin had whirled around and stormed out of the room. Shaking his head, Obi-Wan made to follow him. "Anakin…" he sighed. "I haven't played the guitar for three years, and I have not composed on it _ever._ "

"I have!" came from Anakin's room, followed by the loud hiss of a zipper unzipping. "I'm pretty good at it!" He reappeared at the door, gripping his guitar in one hand and smirking. "At least, so I've been told."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms. "Thank God it didn't get to your head."

Anakin pushed past him and Obi-Wan trailed after him back into his room. "You don't have to do this," he tried again, "I can borrow a guitar from Ahsoka, try to work with what I have…"

"Ahsoka?" Anakin inquired as he pulled the chair from Obi-Wan's desk and sat on it.

Obi-Wan resigned himself to sitting on the bed. "Vocals and lead guitar," Obi-Wan explained.

Anakin's long fingers wrapped gently, almost reverently, around the neck of the guitar. He strummed quietly. "The girl with the dreadlocks?"

Obi-Wan's brows shot up. "She has dreadlocks, yes. You know her?"

"Not personally, we have a common friend." He stopped playing and looked at Obi-Wan. "So, are you going to show me the song already?"

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but reached for his iPod regardless. He handed it to Anakin, waited for him to put the headphones on, and hit play.

While Anakin listened to the song, nodding his head to the beat, Obi-Wan couldn’t keep himself from tapping his foot anxiously. He wasn’t the type to show his incomplete work to people, and even if he wanted to boast, that song wouldn’t be his first choice. It wouldn’t even make the top 5 if it weren’t one of the four songs he had ever composed.

Obi-Wan searched Anakin’s face for some indication of what he thought about the song. Anakin’s eyes were closed, brows scrunched in concentration, and a small smile curled his lips. Obi-Wan felt himself smile at the sight. He remembered that expression from when they had been kids, and seeing an almost identical copy after all those years warmed him up on the inside.

Anakin pulled the headphones down around his neck and his eyes fluttered open. A smile spread on his face as he looked at Obi-Wan. “It’s a good song,” he said simply. “It sounds like you.”

“Except for the part that I don’t actually play in it,” Obi-Wan deadpanned to make up for his flushing face.

Anakin waved his hand dismissively. “Irrelevant.”

Both of them chuckled. As Anakin burst into a monologue about what and how they could include in the song, Obi-Wan mused on how easy it was to talk to him. It had seemed they couldn’t have _less_ in common, but in the small space of his room, it was so easy to laugh with Anakin and to listen to his enthusiastic ranting.

With a pang of pain, he remembered the endless afternoons he had spent with Qui-Gon like this,  discussing their assignments, composing on his keyboard, Obi-Wan’s stomach hurting from laughing at Qui-Gon’s impressions of their teachers. He had a keen eye for everyone’s idiosyncrasies, and a stone-faced delivery. Obi-Wan had used to think he would be just as good an actor as he was a musician.

“Are you okay?” Anakin’s voice pulled him back into the present.

Obi-Wan had been staring at the floor; he met Anakin’s eyes and nodded. “I’m fine. You were saying…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a slower chapter, but can you tell i LOVE writing friendly interactions between these two and their besties? because it makes my heart all kinds of warm
> 
> by kind to yourselves, lovelies, and take care <3


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